My colleagues invite me to lunch, or to go for a walk, but I decline. This little quiet corner of the office is just fine with me. My partner has been doing the shopping. I'm overwhelmed in public spaces.
Tag: dissociation
Identity.
It's no surprise I sometimes don't recognize myself in mirrors. I'm trying to focus on sharing my story, but I'm dissociating and having a hard time remembering those people inside.
Fugue.
I'm functional, but dissociating. I go to work and do work and go home. It's nearly impossible to go to the store or visit friends. I have the need to exist solely in well-known safe and quiet places. My throat begins to close if I think about any variance from a well-worn path.
Mirrors.
Sometimes I don't realize I've been avoiding my own reflection until I catch a glimpse of it.
Hopeless.
I must have seen a half dozen psychologists in as many years. Why couldn’t any of them figure out what was wrong with me?
Learning.
The worst part is when I don't recognize my own words, or don't recall typing them out or writing them down. At all.
Nine.
Feeling suspicious or out of touch with reality. One symptom of borderline personality disorder.
Lucky.
I guess I'm lucky. I don't remember the first assault. The one I know happened, but don’t remember exactly when, or who was involved.
Hindsight.
Here’s the thing: I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t mentally ill.
Process.
The writing process has not been easy because of borderline personality disorder. I can write something one day and revisit it in a week and not recognize my own words. Bear with me.
